We Might Fall
by Zane's Girl- Jo
Summary: What if Jo left on her walkabout and didn't return- because something happened? Jo gets into an accident on her walkabout. She doesn't return to Eureka, and it's up to Carter and the others to bring her home. Disregards Season 5. I know, another one of those stories, but I can't help what my muse gets inspired by- I blame Unsolved Mysteries this time.
1. Chapter 1

**We Might Fall**

**R****if****iuto: N****on Miriena**

**************************Summary: What if Jo left on her walkabout and didn't return- because something happened? Jo gets into an accident on her walkabout. She doesn't return to Eureka, and it's up to Carter and the others to bring her home. Disregards Season 5. I know, another one of _those_ stories, but I can't help what my muse gets inspired by- I blame_ Unsolved Mysteries_ this time. **

_"Whatever happens, I know you can handle it, Fargo. Carpe diem, right?"_

She'd been truly happy for Fargo, and had surprised herself by admitting silently that, over the years, they'd become pretty good friends.

_"Be safe up there, Zane."_

_"You were never a hookup."_

His arms had been warm, his lips soft on hers as they'd shared one last passionate embrace.

_"You're part of the reason I'm going Carter."_

_"I need you."_

_"You found your place here and you made it a home, and now you're making this family-"_

_"And I consider you a part of my family."_

Carter had held tight to her, in an attempt to get her to stay. Allison had listened patiently as she'd explained why she had to go. And now, as she headed up towards New York, she let it all go into the wind. The visit with her dad in Jersey had been good, even if he had interrogated her on her health and well-being in the small Oregon town. He was just looking out for his only daughter, after all. As her father, he had a right too.

She'd enjoyed the time with her dad; they'd chatted over coffee, reliving old memories and catching up. She'd stopped at the cemetery, laid flowers at her mom's grave, and then kissed her dad goodbye before climbing in the car; leaving the past behind her, so that she could find her future and what she wanted. Now, she rolled the windows down, blaring the radio, her hair loose in waves around her.

She let the music carry her away, leaving all of Eureka, behind. Zane was probably now a million miles away, having a wonderful time on Titan, not that she cared. He was one of the reasons she had left in the first place. She had no clue where he fit into her life, nor if she even wanted him in her life. The man had broken her heart twice over, in two timelines, but she wasn't going to let her overwhelming attraction be the reason she returned to Eureka. And then there was Carter...

He'd held tight to her hand, silently begging her not to stay, and she'd fled as soon as she could, unwilling to let herself look into his bright blue eyes, in case he begged her to stay. Hell, for all she knew, she didn't belong in the tiny town tucked away deep in the Oregon forests. Maybe she belonged in New York, or D.C., or Vancouver or Toronto. Maybe she'd go over to Europe and bounce around England or Spain or France for a while, maybe she'd settle in St. Petersburg, or go over to Sydney or Melbourne and make a life for herself. Maybe she didn't belong in Eureka at all, maybe she never had.

She merged onto the highway, humming along with the radio, as the stars winked overhead. The evening was calm, quiet, with only the sounds of cars passing her by as she drove into New York. She crossed the bridge into Manhattan, letting her eyes settle over the beauty of the lights. As she got further across the bridge, she saw the space once occupied by the World Trade Center; once two beautiful buildings of steel and glass, reduced to rubble and burning ash that fated September morning. An involuntary shudder passed through her, as she thought back to how close she came to death that day. To think, if she and her friends had gone up to Windows on the World instead of stopping for coffee first, her name would have been among the thousands listed on the memorial. Instead, it was Jadie Blythe's name, and the names of hundreds of others, both in the offices and the restaurant. Lunch at Windows had been a tradition for Jo since she was a child, and had one of the things she always did whenever she came to New York. Now, even ten years later, she still had to remind herself that the Twin Towers weren't there.

So emerged in her thoughts, that she didn't notice the kid rushing into the street until she was just seconds from him. Thinking quickly, she veered to the right, tires screeching. She just missed another car, and glanced back in the rearview to see the kid get hit by another car. Breathing a small sigh of relief, she continued through downtown Manhattan, instead heading through New York and ultimately up to Maine.

As she hit the highway leading towards Bar Harbor, she let her thoughts drift back to New York, and she stifled a yawn. She really should have stopped at a motel for the night, but after her near accident, all she wanted was to be as far away from New York as possible. Better to stop for coffee and then continue on-

The blaring of a car horn assaulted her ears, and she swerved to keep from hitting the car that came into her lane. The scent of rubber filled her nose, and she forced herself to take a breath as she slammed on the brakes. Apparently, someone was watching over her. A black-haired, blue eyed guardian angel, a billion miles away, perhaps?

As she moved to start the car again, she glanced down- she knew better, but was tired, and not thinking clearly. If she'd looked up, she'd have seen the truck baring down on her- somehow, at some point as she'd swerved to miss the other car, she'd ended up stopping on the On ramp. The sound of a truck horn drew her attention, and she looked up, in time to see the lights shining. She slammed the car into reverse and gunned the gas- unaware of the car coming up behind her.

_"Just gonna leave without... saying goodbye?_

_"I don't do... goodbyes."_

Glass shattered, horns blared, tires screeched. Someone screamed; it took minutes for her to realize that she was the one screaming, as she was thrown from the car, through the windshield. Her seatbelt had ripped away from her body at the impact of the other car, making her essentially a human slingshot. Other cars slid to a stop on the highway, watching the accident as it took place, watching the young woman fly from the car as she collided with the truck and the car behind her in a nasty three-car pileup.

_"You can't... figure that out... from here?"_

_"I don't think so. Not yet."_

Her high hopes of finding herself in Bar Harbor, in Toronto, in Spain or England, of building a new life in France or Melbourne, shattered in the night as the cars collided on that highway just north of New York. Thoughts of Eureka danced in her mind, faces and names, voices and memories that fled her mind as she finally came to rest several feet from the wreck.

_"I need to figure out what I want."_

Ambulance and police sirens blared in the distance, but she didn't hear. She didn't hear anything but the sound of her own heart pounding in her chest, as she slowly moved her muscles, slowly pushed herself up, and eventually, began to crawl away from the wreckage. She turned back, watching as police and paramedics surrounded the cars. She shook her head, determined that she had to get out of there. After all these years, after she'd finally managed to get away from that horrific day in Afghanistan, when she was ejected from the vehicle she was riding in when it collided with a suicide bomber's car, it was all back, and she only focused on getting out of there- she wasn't going to spend another three months in captivity after this collison like she had with the last one.

She wouldn't.

_"I'll be seeing ya, Carter."_


	2. Chapter 2

**Rifiuto: Non Mirena**

Her head hurt. She reached up, pulling her hand back from her forehead; fingers sticky, most likely coated with blood. It hurt to take a breath. Judging from the feel of her hand against her ribcage- at least three, maybe four. She stopped, turning back; police and spectators, paramedics were gathered around the pileup. The lights were eerie, flashes of red and blue and white, bright, like strobes in a club or fireworks. A moment passed, when she wondered how she'd survived the crash, or if she had even been in the crash, before she slowly turned and continued on her way. How long she walked, she wasn't sure; she walked until her feet hurt, until she kicked off her shoes, and continued barefoot.

Eventually, somehow, she ended up passing into- not Vermont as she had hoped during her drive- but into Massachusetts. She walked, keeping her head down and her mouth shut, hoping not to draw attention to herself. No luck.

"Oh my God! Are you all right, Miss?"

Slowly, she looked up; turning back, she found herself staring into the bright blue eyes of an older woman. She opened her mouth to speak, but stopped, glancing around in an attempt to get her bearings, only to take a deep breath and gasp, wrapping an arm around her ribcage. The woman was by her side in seconds, wrapping an arm around her waist. "What happened? Were you in an accident?" She looked up, staring into the woman's blue eyes. Her mouth struggled to wrap around words, form sentences- "What's your name? Where are you from? Can you talk? Can you tell me?"

She struggled for several minutes to speak without breathing, to no avail. She had to take a breath in order to speak, and she did so, reluctantly. When she'd whimpered through the pain, she choked out, "Ah... don't... know. I... just... walking... I..."

"Do you know your name?" The woman gently cradled her chin, turning her head to stare at her face. "Honey, can you tell me your name? Or your age? Or your hometown?"

"Don't... know..." She cried out, collapsing to her knees; her lungs burned as though assaulted with the sharp, hot side of a fireplace poker, and before she could say anything else, the world around her went black.

* * *

Antiseptic assaulted her nose, and she slowly opened her eyes, finding herself in a hospital. A deep breath alerted her to the broken ribs now fixed, the steady beep in her ear talked of the machine monitoring her heart, the plastic tubes in her nose and the quick gasps of air told her that she was on oxygen as well. Slowly, she licked her lips; chapped and as dry as her throat; her chest throbbed, and she could feel black thread against her skin, stitches. Slowly, her gaze panned the room, landing on the woman who had talked to her in the street.

"You're awake, thank God!" The woman was up and by her side in minutes. She hit a button on the small nightstand, and within minutes, the room was flooded with nurses and doctors. She struggled to comprehend and follow their conversations, but soon discovered that all she could do was drink in the details of the new arrivals. So absorbed in her study, that she didn't notice the doctor at her side, repeating his words.

"... punctured lung, thank God we were able to get you into surgery. You were the victim of a very nasty accident, Miss. You're lucky to be alive." She nodded, brow furrowing. Her mouth opened, but she only ended up gaping like a goldfish, and automatically closed her mouth. "Can you tell me where you're from?" She thought a moment. She'd been asked that question before. But when? And by whom? Instead, she shook her head. "What about your age?" Another shake. "What is your job? Where do you work?" And another. "What's your name?" Again, she shook her head, shrugging.

"I..." She stopped, licking her lips. He nodded, turning to the woman who'd alerted them. A moment passed, before he got up and went to her.

"Can I speak to you for a moment, in the hall?" She watched the doctor take the woman out of the room; laid back and let the nurses draw blood and change her IV drip, check her oxygen and heart monitor before leaving. Her gaze drifted to the sight of the doctor and woman talking in the hall, but she quickly lost interest and instead turned away. Her chest hurt, the stitches rubbed against her skin, and it hurt to breathe. She lay struggling to remember something, _anything_ that would give her a clue as to who she was or where she came from. But every time she told herself to think back, to dredge up old memories, nothing came. Her life was, essentially, a blank slate, waiting to be written on.

From what she knew, she had no past, no former life to speak of. No one missed her, no one even cared. She had no family, no relationships, no happy memories or old experiences to speak of. She was like a newborn, with her life waiting to be written out, to be drawn and shaped and turned into a novel, to be guided and directed towards the final pages of her story. All she needed, was someone to help her write it.

"... if she can't remember where she came from or who she is, and has no one to take care of her until she gets better, then... then I want to take her. I'll look after her, until she gets well. Please, Doctor Michaels. It won't bother me at all." She looked up as the two entered, deep in conversation. The woman turned to meet her gaze. "I'd love to have her stay with me. It gets so lonely. I'll enjoy the company." The doctor seemed to think it over for a moment, before nodding.

"Very well, but we need to know her name. Can't go on calling her Jane Doe for the rest of her life, can we?" He pulled a chair up next to her bed. "I know you can't remember your name, but even if you did, I don't think it would be Jane. That just... doesn't fit you. Could you... think of a name to use until we figure out who you are?" She glanced at him, biting her lip.

A name? He wanted her to think of a name? A name to call herself while she tried to remember her nonexistent past? Shouldn't be too hard, right?

She ran through a list of names that she'd heard somewhere. Emily? No, that was for artistic recluses like Emily Dickenson. Rose, maybe? She wasn't a flower person. Elizabeth? Only if there was a slim chance she was related to royalty, then no. Caroline? Unless she wanted to be confused with the Carolinas, no thanks. Juana? Unless she wanted to be grouped with _Juana la Loca_-

"I... Isabella. Isabella Rebecca." The doctor nodded, quickly jotting it down.

"Isabella Rebecca it is."


	3. Chapter 3

**Rifiuto: Non Mirena**

"Thank you." The woman nodded, as the cab pulled up in front of the townhouse. "Why were you there? When you found me?"

"Visiting my sister. We may live in Massachusetts, but she's always been more of a small-town girl than big city. So we make as many trips to visit each other as possible. And the day you showed up, I was going to return to Boston. I guess you were put in my path for a reason." She glanced at the older woman, giving her a small smile. "Come on, let's get you settled." She followed the woman out of the cab, and stopped; they stood in front of an older brownstone townhouse. "Come on." A moment passed, before she followed the woman up the steps and into the house. It was nice; cozy, instantly, she was wrapped in warmth. "The bedrooms are upstairs, the living room is to your right, and the kitchen to your left. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

She nodded, looking around the small foyer before wandering into the living room. Decked out in warm blues and greens, there was a fireplace against the far wall, and bookselves against the opposite. A moment passed, before she took a seat on the edge of the sofa, letting her gaze wander about the room. When her dark eyes landed on the book on the coffee table before her, she felt her curiosity pike, and she reached out to seperate its cover from its first pages.

"I thought you might like this." She jumped, her study of the book gone, as she turned to find the woman holding out a steaming mug. She accepted it with a weary glance as the woman took a seat next to her on the sofa, and after a moment, she sniffed it quietly. Sweet, fresh, almost like- "Rosemary tea. With lavender, peppermint and chamomile. After... the last forty-eight hours you've had, I figured you could use something to relax you." She nodded, glancing at the older woman. "All I added to it was a little sugar. It's perfectly safe." A moment of silence passed between the two women before she slowly took a sip.

The tea was hot as if flowed over her tastebuds and down her throat. There was a hint of peppermint oil, mixing with the various herbs to create a pleasant taste. Now that she thought of it, she could faintly smell the peppermint as it wafted from the cup towards her nose. She found that she quite liked it; maybe that meant that she liked herbal tea.

"So, I have a question." The woman set her cup on the table and propped her head on her knuckles. "What... where were you going, when you stumbled into town? You looked like you were going somewhere, or had come from somewhere." She bit her lip, thinking.

"I..." She stopped. And then she reached down, running her finger along the rim of her cup. "I don't... remember. I just... I don't remember if I was going somewhere or... or leaving somewhere... or... I just... I know I... had walked... because I was... missing my shoes... but... I don't remember where from or where to." She looked up at the woman, as if hoping that were acceptable an answer. The woman gave her a small smile, and then reached out, grasping her arm.

"It must be scary, not remembering who you are or where you come from." She shrugged, biting her lip.

"It is. But... a... a part of me... doesn't want to know. I mean..." She set the mug on the table, and folded her hands. "What if I was... an alcoholic or a drug addict? Or... or in an abusive relationship? I wouldn't... I wouldn't want to remember that. I... I wouldn't want to..." She trailed off, glancing down at her hands. A moment passed, before the woman took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"You'll remember eventually, but it'll take time. Until then, you are welcome to stay here as long as you like, Isabella." She sat in silence as the woman got up, going into the kitchen. Licking her lips, she followed, stopping in the doorway.

"Um..." The woman turned from the tea kettle, waiting patiently. She reached up, scratching the back of her neck nervously. "Would it... be all right if I... took a... a quick shower?"

"Of course. Upstairs, down the hall and too your left. There's fresh towels in the linen closet in the bathroom, and shampoo on the counter. If you need anything, let me know." She nodded, giving her a quick smile before turning and heading upstairs. She was silent as she walked down the hall to the bathroom. She found the towels and shampoo exactly where they were supposed to be; quickly, she started the shower and undressed, glancing at her body in the mirror before stepping under the spray.

The water washed over her, warm and comforting. She was careful around the black stitches that she'd covered with a wrap bandage, and the cuts and bruises, and after quickly washing her hair with the shampoo- blackberries and vanilla, she noticed- she stood under the spray, still, as the dirt and grime of the last few hours slid down her body to the drain at her feet. It was a warm rain that carried away the pain of not knowing her past, her real name, where she really came from, and she relished the feeling of being in a place she could- hopefully- look to as safe, with someone who cared for her. The older woman was an angel, a blessing in disguise. One that she was truly grateful for. Except she didn't know her blessing's name. She reached up, brushing the hair away from her face with a sigh.

Her eyes snapped open, and she choked on a breath; she'd moved wrong, tweaking the stitches in her chest, causing a pain like she'd never felt before, and almost blindly, she shut the shower off, stepped out and grabbed a towel. She rushed from the bathroom, hurrying down the hall, pushing open a random door, praying she didn't collapse from a heart attack. The guest room, she guessed. Once inside, she shut the door softly behind her and stepped towards the bed. A pair of blue plaid pajama bottoms and a white tank. Her fingers found the soft flannel, brushing over it gently.

_"I passed. I passed!" Stopping her dance at the sound of laughter. _

_"... you should resume your little happy dance. Besides, I was kind of enjoying it."_

She pulled her hand away as if she'd been burned. Taking a deep breath, she turned from the pajamas, going to the closet and pulling the door open, revealing a mirror. Slowly, she lowered the towel, taking in the scars and bruises on her small, fragile body. As the towel hit the ground, she let her hands wander slowly over her skin. Bruises, cuts and laserations covered her legs and stomach; there was a good-sized gash on her forehead, close to her temple, and her arms were cut up and scraped. Her eyes drifted to her chest, to the purple and black bruises above her breasts and around her lower ribcage; the thick black stitches running between her breasts, towards the bottom of her ribcage, looking like the ties of a corset, small black knots holding her closed and together. Her chest hurt with each breath, and she winced; if her rebroken ribs weren't bruised before, they probably were now. Slowly, she reached out, brushing her fingers along the stitches in her chest, wincing as the rough thread caught on her nails. She looked like she'd gone through a warzone, and yet, somehow, had survived-

"Isabella?" She jumped, kneeling down to grab the towel as the woman gently knocked on the door and poked her head in. Quickly, she straightened, holding the towel to her body. "How are you doing?" She swallowed, forcing a small smile. A moment passed before the woman nodded, and then slipped into the room. She reached for the towel with a soft, "Don't worry, it's nothing I haven't seen or don't have myself." Slowly, she handed the towel over, her cheeks flushing red at the older woman's gaze. "The stitches holding? And these cuts and bruises, you need something on them otherwise they won't heal." She didn't say anything, just covered her chest with her arms, or tried. A moment passed before the woman disappeared from the room; she returned minutes later with a first aid kit. "Sit, please."

Slowly, she reached out, taking the towel from off the bed and wrapping it around herself before taking a seat on the edge. The woman joined her, setting the first aid kit between them, and reached for the towel. Then, after opening the kit, she began working on the bruises and cuts and abraisons on the younger woman's skin. She hissed softly, shutting her eyes. "I know it hurts, but it'll help against infection. The last thing we need is for you to end up back in the hospital."

"Thank you." The older woman gave her a soft smile, before turning her attention to the bruising around her stomach.

"One of your broken ribs had punctured your lung. It was a good thing you showed up when you did, otherwise it would have killed you. The doctors were able to fix it, but it's going to take time to heel, so no strenuous activity. Stitches can be removed in a few weeks."

"How.." She sucked in a breath. "How do you know how to do this?" The woman chuckled softly.

"I worked a brief stint as a paramedic in college, while I was getting my degree in history. My older sister used to take me on her calls when I was a kid, so I learned first hand. Got my paramedic's liscense at sixteen. Bit of an overachiever."

"So... what do you do?" She met the woman's eyes, and after a moment,

"I teach history at Boston Unversity."

"Boston University?" The woman nodded. "Wow. You... it must be wonderful."

"It has it's moments." She bit her lip.

"So... do... do you have any family?" The woman stopped, thinking.

"My husband left me back in early nineteen-ninety. Greener pastures."

"I'm sorry." The woman shrugged, giving her a sad smile.

"It's all right. It was difficult at first. Left when our son was ten-"

"Son?" Her curiosity piked, and the woman nodded.

"Yes. One son. Zane."

_"What do you want from me, Zane?"_

She shrugged, giving the older woman a small smile. They sat in silence for several minutes before, "He was a troublemaker growing up, but he's turend into a wonderful, mature young man. Lives in a small town in Oregon."

"Why so far away?"

"He works for a company, and the company is based in Oregon. But he makes visits back to Boston regularly."

"That's nice."

The other woman chuckled, nodding. "He's... mellowed out quite a bit. A lot of it is thanks to this woman he's been seeing. She works security at the same business."

"Lucky girl." She whispered, tears in her eyes. She wanted someone to care about her like that. When she was fixed up and dressed, she climbed into bed, glancing aroudn the room as the older woman sat beside her. "Thank you, for taking me in."

"You're very welcome. Try to get some sleep, okay? You've had a chaotic day. If you need anything, I'll be down the hall." She nodded, as the woman pressed a kiss to her forehead. She briefly wondered if she had a mother who had kissed her goodnight as a child. As the woman reached the door, she asked,

"Um... I... just... I didn't get your name?" The older woman gave her a small smile.

"Tessa."

"Tessa." She whispered, getting used to the letters as they moved around her tongue. "Thank you, Tessa."

"You're welcome. Goodnight, Isabella. Sweet dreams." As Tessa turned off the light and shut the door, she finally let the tears she'd been holding back all day, flow.


	4. Chapter 4

**R****if****iuto****: N****on**** Miriena**

She ran the brush through her hair, lost in her reflection. She didn't recognize herself- then again, she couldn't remember her real name; her face was puffy and bruised, a bandage had previously covered the gash on her forehead. Tessa had come to check up on her before going to work, promising to come home for lunch. If she didn't know any better, she'd say that Tessa enjoyed having her stay; she must get lonely-

Slowly, she set the brush down, watching as her long dark strands settled around her shoulders. A moment passed, before she looked around. Then, she got to her feet and went to the bathroom, returning minutes later with a pair of scissors. Resuming her place on the bed, she glanced down at the dark strands, and then grabbed a chunk, opening the scissors as she did so. Taking a deep breath, she slipped the strands between the blades and cut.

* * *

"Isabella? I picked something up from the on campus cafe. I hope you like Cobb salad. Isabella?" She looked up as Tessa entered the living room. "Good afternoon, how was your morning?" Tessa asked, taking a seat on the sofa across from the chair she was seated in. It was then that the older woman got a good look at her. "Did you... cut your hair?" She blushed.

"Do you like it?" A warm smile slid slowly over the woman's face; she'd seen that smile before, but couldn't think where.

"You look beautiful." She blushed; she'd chopped her hair until it was uneven, and then dunked her head under the faucet in the bathroom, before blowdrying it. Then, she'd rummaged through Tessa's closet, pulling out a pair of jeans and a loose-fitting grey top; the two women were about the same size. Now, the dark strands hung in a choppy, windblown look, framing her face in a way that made her quite pretty.

"Thank you. Um... I... I borrowed a few of your-" She gestured to her clothing. Tessa chuckled.

"It's okay. Keep it. It looks good on you." She whispered her thanks, before closing her book and saying,

"I... I was thinking." Tessa nodded her head in the direction of the kitchen, and she followed.

"About what?"

"Well," She took a seat next to Tessa, accepting her salad with a smile and a soft thank you. "I... I need a last name, don't I?" Tessa nodded.

"Of course. Everyone needs a last name. What did you have in mind?" She bit her lip, thinking.

"Rose. I... I was thinking 'Rose.'" She looked to Tessa for approval, and the woman reached over, taking her hand and squeezing.

"I think it's perfect."

* * *

Carter sat, staring at his computer screen. He hadn't been able to work since the Astreaus vanished, since the ship had taken both her crew and Allison- trapped within due to a premature malfunction and launch- with it. After a moment, he picked up the phone, started to dial Jo's number- and then dropped the phone. He'd tried, on more than one occasion, to call her and tell her that-

What, exactly? What did he say, to his best friend? How did he tell her that the ship carrying her sort-of-boyfriend had vanished, and that they had no idea where it was or how to get it back? How did you tell someone that? And besides, there was no guarantee he would be able to reach Jo anyway; knowing her, she'd left her cell phone and all technological forms of communication at SARAH.

He sighed and sat back in his chair. He had to figure out a way to tell her when she came home, then. _If_ she came home. He shook his head. No, Jo would come back, she had to. She'd only be gone for a couple weeks, and be back on Monday morning, waiting at Cafe Diem for him, coffee in hand. This was her home, she had to return. She would. He knew she would.

Silent, he shuffled the papers on his desk, stopping at the sight of a phone number. _"The number for my motel in Maine. But you don't call unless it's absolutely urgent. Understand?"_

A moment of indescision filled the sheriff, and nervously, he grabbed the phone, dialing the number with shaking fingers. An older woman's breathy response came on the line, and he quickly muddled through as he asked about Jo. After several minutes of checking, the woman informed him that Jo had never checked in, and she'd been forced the give the room to someone else. Softly, Carter thanked her and returned the phone to the cradle.

_Don't panic. Maybe she's just taking a detour to see the sights... _But he instantly dismissed the thought; Jo liked getting to her destination before doing any sightseeing; she should have checked in by then. If she hadn't made it-

The blood left his face and he quickly dialed Henry. Voice shaky, he choked out, "Henry, it's Jack. I... I don't think Jo ever made it to Bar Harbor."

* * *

"You can't possibly know that she's missing, Jack! She could just be taking a few days to see the sights and get settled-"

"I thought that too, but it's not like Jo!" He grabbed the other man's arm, stopping him from putting something away on a shelf of his garage. "Henry, I_ talked_ to the woman who ran the bed and breakfast. She said that Jo never checked in. That no one matching Jo's description ever came into the B&B." The older man sighed, taking a seat on a stool as Carter followed. He watched the sheriff, noticing the pain and fear in his blue eyes. "Henry, I think something happened to Jo. I... she... she could be hurt or... or lost or... I can't explain it, but something is wrong. I _know_ it."

Henry listened to Jack, letting him say his point before finally getting up. "All right."

"What?"

"If you think something is wrong, then we'll go see if we can find anything. We'll check all the hospitals and jails and if we have too, we'll-"

"File a report," Carter said, pulling out his phone. "And if that doesn't work, I've got a buddy in Federal that might be able to help."


End file.
